The Walls Of Troy Part 11

He searched my eyes.

I went on. "The thing is, what happened in the crowd at that festival, and some of those panics you've had, I've seen that happen with other people before. Usually because they've been traumatized somehow. I'm not judging, and I'm not asking you to tell me in detail what happened. But if there is something that's f.u.c.ked with you enough to make you jump out of your skin when someone drops some books? Then I wouldn't be doing you any favors by not encouraging you to go to therapy. I..." I winced and took a breath. "I've lost friends who never got any help."

"Lost them? Like..."

"Suicide," I whispered. "Guys who've come back from combat and never been the same. Sometimes things happen, and people can't deal with them on their own. That's what therapists are for. It doesn't mean you're crazy, or that you're imagining anything. It's just to help you cope with it."

Troy swallowed. "So, now what? I go see a therapist, and you..." He raised his eyebrows.

"I'll still be here. I'm here to protect you against anyone who wants to f.u.c.k with you now. The therapist is to help if someone's f.u.c.ked with you in the past."

Troy let out a long breath and slowly lowered his gaze. I followed it, and my heart jumped when I realized I hadn't let go of his hand. And he hadn't tried to pull away.

If I had a professional bone in my body, I'd have broken away right then and quietly explained that it was my job to give a d.a.m.n about his safety. Because it was. And that was absolutely why I'd agreed with Dalton about sending him to a therapist. Why I wanted to teach Troy to shoot once we were sure he was stable.

But I'd have been lying if I'd said all this had nothing to do with why I hadn't slept last night. Or why I couldn't remember a single word of those chapters I'd meant to study in the library yesterday.

Or why I still hadn't taken my hand off his.

I finally withdrew it and rested it on the gear s.h.i.+fter. "I'm only trying to help."

"I know." Troy turned his head and focused on the road ahead. "We should go. Before traffic picks up."

"Right. Good idea."

I put the car back into Drive, and neither of us said another word.

Two weeks into Troy's therapy, his father joined him for a session. Afterward, Admiral Dalton pulled me into his office.

He offered me a seat in front of his desk but didn't sit down himself. Leaning against the ma.s.sive desk, he folded his arms across his chest. "You were right about Troy, MA1."

"In what way, sir?"

"His therapist says there are definitely signs of posttraumatic stress disorder."

My heart flipped. I really hated being right. "From what?"

"That's what no one's been able to get out of him. The signs are there, and clearly all this hara.s.sment business is a problem, but she doesn't believe that's enough to cause him to have flashbacks and whatnot. The actual trigger..." Dalton shook his head. "Well, he'll need to keep seeing her for a while, I think. He's not quite ready to open up that much."

"It's a start, though. Right?"

"Yes. Yes, it's a good start." He sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know why I didn't encourage him to go sooner. I should have known he-"

"The important thing is he's going now, sir. And if it's helping, then great."

"Yes, that's true. Anyhow. His doctor thinks there is definitely some PTSD, but she doesn't believe he's a danger to himself or others. She didn't see any reason to keep you from teaching him how to handle a firearm."

I gulped. "She's sure? And you're sure?"

Dalton nodded. "He isn't depressed or delusional. There's no reason to believe he's going to hurt anyone or kill himself." He broke eye contact for a moment, then tightened his arms across his chest and met my gaze again. "I don't know what happened to him, MA1, or why he's as nervous as he is, but I need him to be able to protect himself. I want you to teach my son to shoot."

I nodded. "All right, sir. I will."

"Good." He lowered his hands, resting them on the edges of the desk. "I can pay you for it. The ammunition, fees, things like that."

"That won't be necessary. You're getting me credit in my cla.s.ses. I can buy a few boxes of bullets."

"And you're doing what you can to keep my son safe. Consider it the least I can do."

There was no point in arguing with an officer and father who'd made up his mind, so I just nodded. "Okay, sir. Thank you."

"Thank you, MA1. I've lost a great deal of sleep over Troy's safety, and it's good to know he's in good hands."

"I wouldn't be doing my job if he wasn't."

He smiled. "Keep up the good work."

"Will do, sir."

"Dismissed, MA1."

I gave a sharp nod and then headed for the door.

When I stepped out of the admiral's office, my heart jumped into my throat.

"Hey." Troy met my eyes from where he rested one shoulder against a doorframe across the hall with Talos at his feet.

I pulled the door shut behind me, gave the dog a slightly uneasy glance-I was starting to get used to him, but he still made me nervous-and met Troy's gaze. "Hey."

He scowled, but the effect was lost when his forehead creased and his eyebrows knitted together. "So my dad probably told you what the therapist said."

"Uh..." s.h.i.+t. Was Dalton supposed to be talking to me about this?

Troy exhaled, and the scowl melted away. "It's okay. He said he'd be talking to you about it." He motioned for me to walk with him, and we started down the hall, Talos's tags jingling as he plodded between us. "Now do you believe I'm not crazy?"

"I never thought you were crazy." I slipped my hands into my pockets and focused straight ahead. "I was just concerned." I paused, but before the silence could really elbow its way in, added, "There's a reason your dad told me what the therapist said."

"So you know if you're protecting me from imaginary friends?"

"No, because I..." I stopped, and when he faced me, I swallowed. "Your father and I both wanted to be sure you were on an even keel, especially so you weren't inclined to hurt yourself, because I want to teach you how to shoot."

Troy's lips parted. "What?"

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "Not at the moment, no."

"If you've got a couple of hours in the morning, I'd like to take you to a shooting range."

"You..." He blinked a couple of times. "So now that you know I'm not crazy, you want to take me shooting?"

I laughed cautiously. "Well, I never thought you were crazy." Turning completely serious, I went on, "But I wasn't going to put a gun in your hand if there was any concern you might turn it on yourself or something."

Troy's lips quirked, and he absently reached down to pet Talos's head. "That explains why she was always harping on whether or not I've ever had suicidal thoughts."

"Which you haven't, right?"

"No, never."

"Then there's no reason I can't teach you. If you need a bodyguard, then it's prudent for you to be able to protect yourself too."

"And you...you can teach me?"

"I can get you started. I'll teach you as much as I can, but a cla.s.s couldn't hurt either." I glanced at him. "And I think as soon as you turn twenty-one, you should apply for a concealed carry permit."

"A...what?"

"A conceal-"

"Yeah, I know what it is." He fidgeted, watching himself scratch behind Talos's ears. "I don't know if I want to carry a gun, though."

"You don't have to carry it, but you'll have the option to."

Troy's eyes lost focus, and he seemed to chew on the thought as he patted Talos's giant head.

"Look, it's just to teach you how to handle a weapon. Spending a couple of hours at the range doesn't commit you to a permit or a lifetime NRA members.h.i.+p."

He met my eyes and then shrugged. "Why not? Okay. I'm in."

I smiled. "I'll come get you around ten tomorrow."

"See you then."

Chapter Nine.

I picked him up the next morning and drove him up to a range in Virginia Beach. This area was still a little unfamiliar to me, and I hadn't had a chance to try out every range, but I'd been to this place two or three times. I'd gotten a members.h.i.+p when I'd started floating this idea to Admiral Dalton, so that gave us unlimited access to gun rentals, since I had no idea what kind of weapon Troy would be comfortable with.

As we headed up Virginia Beach Boulevard, I asked, "Have you ever fired a gun before?"

"Not a pistol. My dad taught me with a rifle when I was a kid, but..."

"That's fine. It's pretty easy, just expect your hands to be a little tired afterward."

"I'll manage."

I pulled into the parking lot, which was mostly deserted. Good-by midafternoon, the place would be crawling with people, but I wanted to see if Troy could even handle being around gunfire before I subjected him to the noise of a packed gun range.

"Oh, by the way," I said as I parked, "there's a small lockbox under your seat. Could you grab that?"

"What is it?" He leaned forward and felt around. "A flotation device in case of a water landing?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

Troy pulled out the black metal box. "Wait, it doesn't come all the way out. Is it... Is the cable attached to something?"

"Yeah. I just need it out enough to open it." I killed the engine. Troy stepped out of the car, and he watched as I unlocked the box. When the top popped open, he sucked in a breath.

"Wait, the gun you carry is in here?" He eyed me. "I thought... You don't actually carry it on you?"

"Not this one, no."

"How many guns do you have?"

"A few." I glanced up as I tucked the pistol into my hip holster. "Variety is the spice of life, you know."

"Mmhmm." I couldn't decide if he looked amused or wary. Maybe a little of both. I got out of the car, locked up, and gestured for him to follow me inside.

His eyebrows arched slightly as he looked at the building and its giant GUNS sign.

"We don't have to do this," I said. "If you're not comfortable..."

"No, I'm fine." He swallowed. Quite possibly to himself, he added, "I'm okay."

I touched his shoulder, and his eyes darted toward my hand before meeting my own. "If there's a reason we shouldn't go in there, just say it."

"No, there..." He shook his head, and his gaze drifted toward my hand again.

I cautiously withdrew it, and we made tentative eye contact again. Clearing my throat, I nodded toward the building. "We don't have to go in, and we can leave at any time."

"It's okay," he whispered. "Let's do this."

"Is there... Look, you don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable telling anyone, but is there any reason going in there"-I pointed at the building-"is going to f.u.c.k with you?"

"No," he said without hesitation. "Really, I'm fine. Just trying to get my head around a few things. That's all."

I chewed my lip. "I'll take you at your word. Just say so if you want to leave."

"I will. Thanks."

Our eyes met for a second, and then we went inside.